


Fake leaves, falling

by bchekov



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), M/M, Post-Chimera Ant Arc, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-09-18 01:47:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9360197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bchekov/pseuds/bchekov
Summary: It’s a brisk winter morning. The air feels sharp against his face, cutting his cheeks and making his eyes water. He doesn’t mind it though. It’s refreshing, and it helps him keep his mind clear of any lingering demons.The trauma of what happened is catching up, years too late, but just as fresh. There are times when he sees the blood on his hands. Sticky and blue, and still warm.





	

It’s a brisk winter morning. The air feels sharp against his face, cutting his cheeks and making his eyes water. He doesn’t mind it though. It’s refreshing, and it helps him keep his mind clear of any lingering demons; god knows he has enough of them hanging around as it is, Killua too. He has never been good at concealing his feelings from the other.

He stares at his hands, red and dry, slowly turning blue. He should’ve worn the gloves Kite got him for his birthday; they were cute and he liked them, he really did, but sometimes it hurts a little too much to look at them. Kite understands. He always does, and Gon is grateful.

“What are you doing out here without a jacket?!” someone exclaims behind him. He doesn’t have to turn around to know who it is. 

“I was feeling restless.” he says, as if it’s enough of an explanation. It really isn’t, but Killua understands. He almost always does, even when Gon himself doesn’t. A hand is placed on his shoulder and he knows Killua heard the unsaid _I wasn’t able to sleep tonight either_. 

“… I see,” he replies. There’s a trace of worry in his voice. “will you come back inside? It’s really cold out here.” his tone isn’t anything other than gentle, _understanding_. Gon is grateful.

“No,” he shakes his head slowly. “I want to stay out here for a little longer.” the hand on his shoulder disappears and is replaced by a blanket. It smells of Killua; faintly of coffee and coconut, with a hint of iron. Safe.

“Okay, I won’t force you.” 

They stand in silence, gazing out over the city below. Gon leaning against the railing and Killua leaning against Gon. It’s pleasant, albeit a bit tense. There are words left unspoken, entire conversations hanging in the air just above their heads. Gon waits for Killua to pull at them, or push them towards him, but it doesn't happen.

He knows he’s been distant lately, staring off into space or repeating the same sentence twice. Killua is patient though. He doesn’t get mad or try to push him like everyone else, like he would have done in the past, and lets him be when he gets like this because he knows. He’s been through the same thing, over and over.

The trauma of what happened is catching up, years too late, but just as fresh. There are times when he sees the blood on his hands. Sticky and blue, and still warm. He washes his hands for hours when that happens. Killua helps him dry them when he’s done, making sure they use the green towel and not the blue one. He learned that the hard way. 

Other times when he can’t stand look in the mirror. The person looking back at him is unfamiliar. Too rough. Too broken. Countless mirrors have shattered by his fists.

The night terrors are the worst, because they don’t just affect his own sleep, but Killua’s as well. He says he doesn’t mind, but Gon can see the bags under his eyes. Clear as day. The way he sometimes nods off if he gets to comfortable. It wrecks him with guilt, knowing it’s his fault and that there’s nothing he can do about it. The screaming and the crying, the self-loathing and the despair.

He hates it.

He wants so badly to be fixed. To be free of this burden. but he has no idea how.

So he stops sleeping. He just lies in bed and counts the stains in the ceiling, or watch Killua. Sweet, wonderful, patient Killua. He deserves so much better.

“Gon?” it’s spoken quietly, like it would break if uttered too loud. He finds himself relating.

“Yes?” his voice sounds alien to his ears, hoarse and small.

“Let’s go inside,” Killua takes his hand and squeezes it gently. Gon can’t feel a thing. It’s probably gone numb from the cold. “Please.” he adds.

“Okay.”

Killua shoots him a grateful smile and turns to step inside, still holding his hand. The blanket falls to the ground, but neither pays attention to it.

“Hey, Killua.” his voice cracks a little. “Thank you for understanding.”

“It’s fine, geez.” he doesn’t miss the relief that crosses the other’s face. 

Chest a little lighter, he closes the door behind him.


End file.
